His Last Vow
by eys1214
Summary: Twenty-nine years ago Eric Northman was forced to choose between his lover and his child. What would happen if the choice he made came back to haunt him?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry! I can't help it. I'm pissed at TB and the f*ckery I just watched. Mild spoilers for True Blood season 7 episode 3. **

* * *

_**Eight months ago…**_

Her fangs snapped down when she felt it. She was about to sleep for the day when she felt her death. Her _true_ death.

She took a deep unnecessary breath, her chest heaving as the Maker's command left her body, releasing her from the shackles that had bound her for 29 years. A bloody tear trickled down her cheek. For almost three decades she had been alone. Taken from her family from the moment she rose as one of the undead. Dragged to London and forced into hiding, tucked somewhere, away from everyone she knew. She was raised with such precision only someone as calculated as Nan Flanagan would. She was trained how to lurk in the shadows. Her existence was hidden even from the Authority, the same organization her maker was sworn to protect and serve. She learned to speak other languages. If she were to survive as a vampire she had to adapt. She had been taught how to feed from a donor. That was her prize for her obedience. But most of the time her sustenance was Tru Blood - the catalyst of her demise. She abhorred the synthetic substance, the taste, the texture and everything it stood for. It was vile. No wonder vampires despised it. She picked up the bottle of Tru Blood from her bedside table and hurled it against the wall of her light-tight room. Never again, she promised herself.

Blood pooled at the rims of her eyes. She refused to blink to release them. Once she had asked Nan why she made her.

_I want to have at least one person to weep for me when I meet my true death,_ had been Nan's response.

She blinked hard then brushed the blood off her cheeks. She had done her duty. No need to get carried away.

She wondered who did it, though – put a stake in that cold bitch's heart. Ended the vampire who created her, gave her the life she never asked for.

The pull of the sun weighed her down. She willed her fangs to ascend as her head hit the pillow before she closed her eyes. Twenty-nine years of solitude would have driven anyone to madness. But not her. She had a powerful motivator.

_Revenge. _

Now that her maker was gone, she was free. Free to seek vengeance against the people who had wronged her.

And she knew just where to start.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Seven months ago…**_

Louisiana was hell on earth, which made her wonder why _he_ had chosen this place.

It was Mardi Gras. Debauchery was in the air. She stood in the balcony of an old French quarter condo she had rented for the week, leaning against wrought iron railings, watching the swarm of oblivious and inebriated town folks in the street.

"Do we really have to meet here?" came the woman's shrilly, condescending voice.

She kept her eyes glued to the crowd, ignoring the woman's query.

She heard a sharp gasp. "Oh dear Lord! Is that…"

Her lips curled to the side.

"Yes, Sarah. That is indeed your former husband."

"Is that why brought me here? To show me what a disgusting creature he became?"

She didn't say a word. She didn't go to New Orleans to spite Sarah Newlin. She came to Nola for _him_. Her gaze followed the tall vampire in the middle of the crowd, swaying and grinning in his intoxicated state. If she had a heart, it would probably still beat for him. He was with the vampires, who she recognized as members of Nan's precious Authority. They were every bit as depraved as she imagined them to be. They didn't even try to hide what they were as they parade with their fangs hanging for everyone to see. She smiled. Their transgressions would only expedite her plan. She watched them vanish from sight as they slipped into a bar down the street.

She moved away from the railing and sat in the wrought iron porch chair. "Take a seat, Sarah." Her hand covered with black leather gloves pointed at the chair across her.

Sarah Newlin, the mentally-unstable, uptight blonde, jutted her chin and smoothed her perfectly coifed hair before taking her post.

"I heard you and Governor Burell are setting up a camp specifically for vampires?"

Sarah straightened her back, instantly defensive. "How did you know about that?"

"It is not important." Nan had an intricate network of people working for her. A network she had recently gained access to the moment Nan Flanagan turned into goo. She picked up the silver attaché case leaning at the foot of her chair and placed it on the round glass table between them. "What, if I may ask, do you intend to do with the vampires you capture?"

Sarah laughed. Her laughter was as shrill as her voice. "Why should I tell you? You're one of them."

"I am one of them." Her fangs clicked in place to stress her point. "I can snap your neck and drain you before you can even blink. The very reason I'm keeping you alive is because I still find you useful. Do not make me change my mind." Twenty-nine years in solitary had made her ruthless.

Sarah's neck moved as she swallowed. She could detect her carotid artery under her thin skin. She felt parched all of a sudden, her fangs tingling at the idea. She managed to tamp down her thirst as her fangs shot up.

"We call it Vamp Camp. It is designed to contain _them_. We have cages, rooms lined with silver walls, UV lighting, the whole nine yards."

"Contain?" she asked. "That is it?"

Sarah puffed her chest, again on the defense. "We also have a 'sun room'. That's where the wayward vampers go. We'll detain _them_ until daylight and then open the roof to, well, torch _them_."

Sarah kept emphasizing the word them, as though _she_ wasn't one of _them_.

"No." She shook her head.

"Sorry?"

There were two distinct clicks as she pushed the buttons on the side of the silver attaché case before sliding it in front of Sarah. Inside the case were a dozen vials of deep red liquid lined up in black velvet cushion.

"You'll need these."

Sarah grabbed a vial and held it up to her head. "What is this?"

"Give that to Dr. Overlark." Sarah's eyebrow shot up at the mention of the good doctor's name. "We've met in London last year. He was in the process of developing a strain of Hepatitis D virus that could be lethal to vampires. Last we spoke he told me he had yet to modify the Hep-D strain."

"So this is a Hep-D virus?"

She shook her head again.

"It's better. It's a Hep-_V_ virus. Any vampire infected with that potent virus will instantly weaken and eventually expire. It is highly contagious and could be contracted through consumption and copulation. In the right hands that weapon can wipe out the entire vampire race."

Sarah's eyes flicked toward her.

She snorted. "Don't get any ideas, Sarah. I've been stabbed in the back once, quite literally in fact. I will never let it happen again. Besides, do you really think I'll hand you something I don't have a cure for?"

"There's an antidote?"

"_Oui_," she replied, her natural accent slipping out. She caught herself at once. "Limited of course. And the man who invented it was gone along with the formula that took him a year to perfect."

She had thought this through. Yes, she had no doubt that the vampires, or the humans at their behest, might be able to come up with the formula for the cure. But by the time they could create the antidote, it would be too late.

"Cheese and rice," Sarah gasped, putting the vial back in its place. "Why are you givin' this to me?"

"Because I want something in return." She turned her gaze back to the bar downstairs where the vampires had disappeared into. "Nora Gainesborough."

Sarah knotted her perfectly lined brows. "I don't know her."

"She's in that bar along with your husband. When everything is ready, you will find her again for me. She has recently reunited with her brother. Track him and you'll get her."

"Who's her brother?"

She paused, taking a breath she didn't need. Somehow saying his name out loud was harder than she imagined.

"Eric Northman."

Sarah's eyes widened. "I know him! He infiltrated our fellowship a few years ago to rescue a vampire we caught in Dallas."

She knew everything about Dallas. About Godric. She had done her research. Nan Flanagan might have forbidden her to make contact with _him_ or Pamela but the Maker's command could only do so much. With the help of her few trusted allies, she managed to get information about him. Information that might prove useful in the future. This was her future.

"Then you wouldn't have a problem locating him."

"What do you want us to do with Nora Gainesborough?"

She smiled, and to her satisfaction, Sarah shivered at the sight of it. "I want Dr. Overlark to test that virus on her. I want her to be patient zero."

Sarah glanced at the vials before she nodded her assent. "And what about Eric Northman? Do you want him infected too?"

"In due time," she answered slowly. "I want him alive to see his sister die. I'm saving him for last. Right after I stake his beloved progeny. The woman he chose over me."

"What do you mean?"

"Now is not the time for gossip, Sarah. There's much to be done," she said dismissively.

An old woman stepped in the veranda, knocking at the doorjamb to announce her presence. "_Mademoiselle, votre ami est ici_ (Miss, your friend is here)," the woman said in her rusty Cajun French.

By _friend_ she meant her donor for the night.

"_Merci, Madame Lestraud. Envoyez-lui dans_. (Thank you, Mrs. Lestraud. Send him in)." She rose from her seat. "We are done, _oui_? You can stay in the next room for the night. It's dangerous to go out tonight with all of _them_ lurking around."

Sarah closed the case and stood. "Thank you, Sylvie." She picked up the case and headed to the sliding door leading to Sylvie's bedroom. "You know if you really want to hurt Eric Northman, I think there's one more person you should consider."

Sylvie tilted her head toward Sarah. "There's no one else. Pamela and Nora are the only ones he loved enough to die for."

It was Sarah's turn to show that chilling smile. "Then you haven't heard about Sookie Stackhouse."

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**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**Well darn, I did it again. Starting a new fic without updating my WIPs. I just can't get over the fact that there's a Sylvie backstory we haven't heard about for six effing seasons, who is apparently Eric's lost lover. This won't be a long story, I promise. Just have to scratch that itch. **

**Let me know what you think. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Morocco… One month ago…**_

Heavy wisps of smoke swirled like come-hither fingers in the air. It was a good thing he never had the compulsion to breathe the polluted air. He landed in Marrakech three nights ago but was able to stave off his hunger until tonight. Bad idea. Because now he was starving. After the unfortunate incident in Are where he almost burned to death on top of the mountain, his body had been more demanding than usual. Before the accident he could last weeks without feeding because of his age, but now the need for blood was getting harder and harder to manage.

He wasn't so desperate to take Tru Blood, though. The contamination of the synthetic substance had reached foreign soil. Tru Blood was banned from every country he had been to. Rightfully so. However, the damage had already been done. Vampires with Hep-V were growing in numbers. The situation had escalated quickly. It was even worse than when their existence was kept from humans. In the past their only dilemma was how to maintain a low profile. Now everyone was vigilant, always on the lookout for infected vampires. Even the healthy vampires, like him, were being shunned like pariahs. Safe houses and lounges were being shut down, one by fucking one.

That was why he was always on the move. In the wind, like he was before they were 'out of the coffin'.

"Eric Northman!" a man's voice boomed from across the room.

He almost cringed as he took a seat in the darkest corner of the bar. So much for going incognito.

"Hamza, my friend!" he forced himself to cheer as he peeled himself from his chair.

The bearded man who was almost as tall as him, wrapped him in a tight embrace. "It's been so long, my friend. What brought you to Marrakech?"

"Boredom," he replied succinctly as he sat down.

The man guffawed. "Then you're in luck. We are setting up the buckets."

Eric merely smirked. "I'm bored, Hazam, not suicidal. I've dodged far too many bullets just to meet my true death in a fucking bucket."

Hazam shrugged. "Shame. You always draw a big crowd for the roulette."

"Not this time, my friend. I'm only here to feed."

"Blood is scarce these days. Clean blood that is. But let me go and check, we might have someone who can satiate your craving." Hazam tapped his shoulder before he dashed into the room behind the counter. He checked his watch. It would be dawn in a couple of hours and he was already itching to abandon this shithole. He was planning to go to Russia to run an errand tomorrow night and he would like to leave on a full stomach.

A few minutes passed before Hazam emerged out of the backroom with an attractive, albeit meek, young brunette behind him.

"Special delivery just for you, my friend," Hazam announced proudly as he pulled the woman by her elbow. "She is Fatima, the owner's daughter. She is clean. _Never been touched_." At that Hazam winked.

Eric's skin crawled at the gesture. A few years ago he would have pulled Fatima on to his lap and fucked her right there in the middle of the crowded bar filled with hungry vampires. He'd pierce her neck and watch in pleasure as everyone's mouth froth in envy. That bastard was gone though. The blithe but benumbed vampire, spent from all the personal tragedies, had disappeared.

He still had a purpose. Two, actually.

They were the only reasons why would he try this hard to survive.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Hazam commented, sweeping Fatima's black hair to one side to expose her long, olive toned neck.

Eric's fingers under the table flexed. His eyes weren't on Fatima's jugular vein but on the Hazam's grinning face, all the while imagining how good it would feel to sink his fist into Hazam's chest, pull his heart out and give it to the young lady's father.

"She is beautiful. But I'm not in the mood to play. I only want a quick meal."

Eric got up and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair. He was ready to bolt when he felt Fatima's hands on his thighs. She was on her knees in front of him, snaking her arms around his legs.

_The fuck?_

"_S'il vous plais_, _Monsieur_, take me. _S'il vous plais_!"

Eric wasn't surprised by her French. Moroccans were known to use French expressions. What caught him off guard was her desperation.

Hazam grabbed Fatima by the shoulders, pulling her up, but she held on to Eric like a vice. "If you don't take me, someone else will. _Please_, sir."

A series of clicks told him that they now had the attention of other vampires in the bar. "I'll take her," Eric whisper-hissed.

Fatima loosened her grip on his leg as Hazam helped her up.

"How much?" Eric inquired, already reaching for the thick wad of bills inside his jacket.

"Not here," Hazam replied nudging his head toward the kitchen. With his hand still on Fatima's quivering shoulder, he led them all to the room behind the counter.

Eric followed cautiously, darting glances at other vampires who were watching Fatima with hungry eyes. The kitchen was humid with steams wafting from oversized vats. The first thing Eric noticed were the humans – a middle-aged couple and a little girl, who had a striking resemblance to Fatima - huddling beside the walk-in fridge.

The older woman looked stricken, eyes red. Eric had no doubt that it was Fatima's mother and if it weren't for the older man's arm that had snaked around her waist, she would have run to her daughter.

"What the fuck are playing Hazam?" Eric snarled as they approached the family.

"This isn't a game, my friend," Hazam started, letting go of Fatima. "I think we can both agree that this is a difficult time for our kind. We are being hunted down and soon I'm going to have to leave Marrakech. When that happens, I want to have somewhere to go. A safe haven with a formidable ally. There's no better ally than the man who lived for a thousand years."

_Fuck. _

Taking anyone under his wing wasn't part of his plan. If he wanted partners he would have taken Pam with him. Besides he could never trust someone as sleazy and dubious as Hazam.

Then he recalled Fatima's pleas. _If you don't take me, someone else will._ Looking at Fatima and her family, he knew that they were sitting ducks. A coup between humans and vampires was an inescapable possibility. Fatima, as Sookie would always say, was nothing but vampire bait.

"Very well," Eric finally sighed. Hazam gave him a fangy grin. "Under one condition." Eric shoved his hand inside his jacket as he fished for a small piece of paper. He walked over to where the older man was and handed it to him. "This is the map to my villa in Rhône. If the situation worsens here, you will take Fatima and her family with you. They are now under your protection. Failure to comply and you will answer to me. I think we both know how that conversation will go."

Hazam stood still, gaze going back and forth from Fatima's father to Eric, seemingly weighing his options. "You have my word."

Fatima's eyes lit up as she beamed at her father. The patriarch's rigid shoulder visibly relaxed as he gave Eric a curt nod.

Eric lifted his arm and stretched it to Fatima. "It's almost dawn."

The older man opened the walk-in fridge which, to Eric's amazement, was actually a hidden bunker. He kissed Fatima on the forehead as she stepped inside. "Don't weep, child," the father whispered. Fatima nodded her assent and kissed the man's hand. Eric followed Fatima but was stymied when the patriarch took his arm. "Please, sir, she's my little girl."

Eric merely bobbed his head as he reached for the metal door handle. He only had less than a couple of hours before sunrise and there was much to be done.

* * *

**E/S**

_**The following night…**_

Sylvie had been waiting for hours. She didn't mind though, she had plenty of practice with the waiting game.

Tracking someone as elusive as Eric Northman wasn't easy, especially after his 'sunbathing' accident in Sweden. She had been so close to reuniting with him before that. When he was caught by Burell's men and detained in Vamp Camp. She was back in London when Sarah Newlin informed her that he was in Vamp Camp with Nora and Pam. Sylvie had been overly ecstatic then. It was better than she thought it would be. Only she couldn't get there quickly.

She had to stay in London to do her part in Plan Tru Blood: infiltrating Tru Blood factories and contaminating batches after batches of the contemptible blood substitute. Sarah, her obedient little workhorse, had captured everything on film though. Nora's wails, Eric's pleas, every little detail caught on tape. She lost count how many times she replayed it. How many times she wished she had been there to see bloody tears streaking down Eric's beautiful face.

Spreading the virus was tedious work but someone had to do it. And the best part was, with the Authority dismantled no one could question her connection to Nan Flanagan anymore. She could use her 'Flanagan is my Maker' card anytime she pleased and doors would magically open for her. Besides who would think a vampire would spread a virus she herself was susceptible to?

She was jolted out of her musings when she spotted her walking alone toward her house, which was a few blocks away from the bar. Taking a stroll alone in this ungodly hour was imprudent, especially with infected vampires roaming the streets. And that stupidity was what she was counting on.

She slipped out of her heavily-tinted rented sedan and blocked the woman's path.

"_Bonsoir, Mademoiselle_," she greeted her in her mother tongue.

The woman yipped, jumping back from her, hands inside her pockets. She took one look at Sylvie and stepped back a little more. The conspicuous bump in the woman's jacket told Sylvie the woman was carrying a stake. So she wasn't so foolish after all.

"I mean you no harm, Fatima."

The time to be just cautious was gone as Fatima revealed the wooden stake she had been keeping in her coat. "How did you know my name?"

"We've met three nights ago," Sylvie explained, keeping her distance. "I spoke with your mother. I asked if she knew where I can find light-tight motels nearby. Remember?"

Fatima regarded her closely, still swinging the stake at her. "The wine lady," Fatima whispered to herself. "You gave Mama the vintage wines."

"_Oui_. Those were from my family's vineyard. There are only a few of them left. My family stopped making wines the year I was turned." Sylvie smiled wistfully. "Have you tasted it?"

Fatima stopped flailing her weapon and beamed at her. "I have. It is lovely."

Sylvie's smiled broadened. That was all she needed to hear. The wine, unbeknownst to Fatima and her equally-dimwitted mother, was spiked with a small dose of Hep-V.

In a flash she managed to disarm Fatima and shove her in her car.

She had Fatima in a chokehold, her face inches from hers. "Scream and I will rip your throat out."

Fatima obliging in fear, bobbed her head frantically. Sylvie released her grip around the woman's neck as she dragged her nose along Fatima's collarbone.

"You don't smell like him," Sylvie observed, her eyes narrowing at her. "_You're still a virgin_," she spat, disgusted at the thought.

"Him?" Fatima asked, seemingly confused.

"Eric Northman. You were with him last night." It wasn't a question. She had people tailing Eric - the same people who had reported his arrival in Marrakech four nights prior.

"He – He only took my blood. He wants nothing else."

"Liar! The Eric Northman I know will fuck any virgin in a heartbeat."

"No!" Fatima shrieked. "He's not like that. He's a good man."

Sylvie cackled. "Foolish little thing. Eric Northman isn't a man."

Fatima blinked hard, shaking her head even harder. "He's not who you think he is. He's gentle and kind."

"Gentle? Kind? One night with him and you think you know better?" Sylvie laughed again. "I've spent countless nights with him a long time ago. Swooned at his every word. Melted at the touch of his cool hands."

Fatima's eyes widened, comprehension washing over her. "Then you must be _her_."

"Her?"

"The human he fell in love with." Fatima straightened up, pushing herself off the reclined passenger seat.

Sylvie jerked back. Her arms falling limp to her sides. She didn't realize she was holding her breath. A breath she never needed.

"He told me that he wouldn't take me because I reminded him so much of the woman from his past. The woman who loved him at his worst and made him feel human again."

Sylvie felt a bloody tear run down her cheek. She locked gazes with Fatima, her pupils dilating as she glamoured the poor girl.

"Did he tell you her name?" Sylvie compelled Fatima in the steadiest voice she could muster.

Fatima nodded out of compulsion.

"Tell me."

"Sookie."

Sylvie let out an ear-splitting wail before she snapped Fatima's neck. She had one more person to add to her list.

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**A/N: I don't own Eric.**

**This might be a bit slow. I just want to piece things together first before we move along. Another dreadful TB Sunday, loves. I'm crossing my fingers this episode won't be as horrible as the previous ones. But who the heck am I kidding, this is True Blood I'm talking about, where things go from bad to worse.**

**Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!**


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